


The Blurriest Line Of All

by AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Parody, dark&twisty, morbid sense of humor, re-post from 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 03:25:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17439044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell/pseuds/AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell
Summary: Over the next few weeks, Teresa catches herself staring at the walls. Doing nothing for hours.Everything feels wrong. Everything seems different. Is it him? Is it her?She’s not sure what she’s doing in Texas, not sure why she came here in the first place. The dark clouds are gone, there’s a clear blue sky above their heads and all she feels is emptiness.





	The Blurriest Line Of All

**Author's Note:**

> And a BIG special thank you goes to the wonderful clairebare for beta reading!

**The Blurriest Line Of All**

**.**

**.**

When they find the girl, it’s already too late.

Teresa is on her knees, her hands on the poor girl’s chest. Desperately trying to save her, even when she knows the girl is long gone. But she’s so young and this is so wrong.

The girl’s blood stains her hands, soaks her clothes and all Teresa can think of are bloody red smiles on white bedroom walls mocking her.

It’s Jane who pulls her away. Tells her to stop. Tells her that there’s nothing she can do. And Saint Patrick is right. He’s a good guy and it’s not like he choked a man to death in a public park.

She allows him to take her away and out of the room, out of the building. Just stares when he makes her sit down on the pavement, while he tries to clean up her hands with some tissues and a bottle of water.

Did they do that before? It feels like deja-vu.

.

When Jane knocks at her hotel room door that night, she’s drunk. Wasted. Barely able to walk.

She lets him in. Staggers back to her bed, the bottle still in her hands when she stumbles and falls. Jane catches her and she spills her bourbon over his jacket in the process.

She should apologize, but she doesn’t. She hates that jacket anyway. Can’t he wear his old suits? Where did his vest go? She wants him to wear his vest again. It looked nice.

Jane puts her down on the bed, takes the bottle away from her and gives her a glass of water instead. When he bends down in front of her to feel her pulse, she leans forward to kiss him.

The glass breaks when it hits the floor, while she straddles him in one skillful move. Her hands in his golden hair, her lips on his.

He tastes like tea and sunshine, his hands all soft and tender. His clear blue eyes beaming with love and desire when he flips her over to lie her down on the bed.

Teresa tucks roughly at his zipper, while he lets his lips travel softly down her neck. But this is wrong. He’s too affectionate.

How is she supposed to forget when he makes love to her?

Teresa wants to scream, she wants him to pull her hair and she wants him to tear away her clothes. She always assumed he of all people would understand. She needs to feel pain, needs to burn. But Jane won’t set her on fire and Teresa feels tears fall down her cheeks.

Like the perfect gentleman he is, he pulls away from her. A concerned look on his handsome face while he tells her that he can’t do this. Not when she’s drunk. Not when she’s crying.

Teresa wants to laugh, but instead she throws up. She’s not even sorry. It’s about time he got himself a new suit.

.

Over the next few weeks, Teresa catches herself staring at the walls. Doing nothing for hours.

Everything feels wrong. Everything seems different. Is it him? Is it her?

She’s not sure what she’s doing in Texas, not sure why she came here in the first place. The dark clouds are gone, there’s a clear blue sky above their heads and all she feels is emptiness.

From time to time she forgets to eat. Starts to drink coffee instead.

She’s tired almost all the time, falls asleep whenever she has the chance. And she’s happy they don’t let her drive that big SUV. Now she can sleep on the backseat instead of paying attention to the road. And it’s not like she has some serious issues with other people driving the car.

She doesn’t watch TV anymore, switches off the radio as soon as somone turns it on. The noise makes her nervous, just like food makes her nauseous.

There are days she hides in the staircase for hours, savoring the quiet around her. Getting lost in her new found nothingness. Wishing she could just disappear, like this guy did. What was his name again?

He feels like some long forgotten memory, no one seems to even remember his name. And why should they, it’s not like he killed someone’s wife and child.

The walls are closing in around her, faster and faster. But it’s not like she could tell anyone. It’s not like she could be honest about this. She’s stuck. Like a goddamn TV character.

If she could leave, she would walk right out of this place.

.

Of all people, it’s Agent Fisher who realizes that something’s wrong with her. Asks her about it, when they’re side by side at the sink in the ladies room.

Teresa tells her that she’s fine. Hot water from the faucet burning her skin. She feels too empty to care.

Two hours later Jane makes her sit down with him and tells her that he wants her to see a doctor. That he’s worried about her. That they all are.

Teresa takes a look through the office aquarium. Spots Cho’s face from afar, Agent Fisher at his side. Concern and worry written all over their faces. And it just doesn’t fit the shiny FBI interior.

But Teresa doesn’t fit either. Maybe she should dye her hair or get herself a sundress.

Jane tells her something about depression. Something about medication. About getting her the help she needs. And Teresa closes her eyes in resignation.

She sees white walls, barred windows and locked doors. Pill bottles. Herself strapped down on a bed. And she wants to run. Wants to grab the gun from her holster and end it. But it would leave a mess on the carpet. And that would be against the rules, she’s sure.

She could jump from the roof instead, but that would probably even leave a bigger mess. Or she could just take the pills she hides under her bed, but with her luck she would end up in a coma. And that never turns out good on those television shows.

When she opens her eyes again, she meets his. Blue mixing with green. Lies reflected by even bigger lies. Master and disciple.

She gives him a smile and tells him she’s fine.

.

Teresa eats breakfast and dinner with Jane. Lunch with Agent Fisher and Cho. Starts drinking tea, instead of coffee and allows Jane to get her a new place to live. An Airstream trailer right beside his own.

After work she goes out with her colleagues, instead of hiding in the staircase. Talks about the latest office gossip, shoes and designer clothes.

She hunts down serial killers in the morning. Helps put away thieves and frauds around noon and finishes her paperwork in the afternoon, before heading out for dinner with Jane.

One fine day they have sex for the first time and it’s sweet and tender. His eyes never leave her face. And when he tells her that he loves her, he even puts his wedding band down for her.

No, she isn’t depressed. She’s perfectly fine. She’s still the same pocket rocket, heavily armed, cute as a button Teresa Lisbon she’s always been.

Tomorrow you’ll see her again. Sitting at her desk in the FBI bullpen, with blonde highlights in her dark hair. Wearing a pink sundress and smiling like a lovestruck teenage girl. Waiting to get married and pregnant and if she’s really lucky, even in that order.

_(What a wonderful fucked up world this is)._

**.**

**.**


End file.
